


Late Nights and Coffee in Bed

by peachchild



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: American AU, Blind!Thranduil, Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Hella, M/M, Modern AU, all the things AU, coffee shop AU, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is a failed concert violinist who has settled for running the San Francisco coffee shop his father left him, with the help of his nephews. Thranduil is the concert pianist who frequents his shop twice a week and happens to be blind. They dislike each other, then they like each other, then maybe they love each other, but Thorin isn't going to be the one to say that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights and Coffee in Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [深夜床邊的咖啡（Late Nights and Coffee in Bed）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721869) by [Morrey_Liu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrey_Liu/pseuds/Morrey_Liu)



> Amazing [art](http://daffenger.livejournal.com/25550.html) was done for this by Daffenger on LiveJournal.  
> Also, and appropriately, Meddlesomewiz did a great [fanmix](http://meddlesomewiz.livejournal.com/11885.html).   
> :3 This was really fun to write and not a pairing I've ever visited before, so I hope you guys like it!

Thorin had a headache coming on.

He would never understand why people found coffee shops relaxing. The whir of blenders and the steaming _whoosh_ of espresso machines, the clack of fingers on laptop keyboards, their plaid-wearing owners hunched over, squinting at the white glow of the screen - it all drove Thorin to distraction.

Not to mention his nephews - and he adored them, and viewed their easy grasp of joy with a mixture of exasperation fondness - but as baristas, they talked in shouts over the various machines making drinks, between games of catch played with day-old pastries and leaning on the counter to flirt with anybody who happened to catch their eyes. Of course, they were also probably the major reason that people even _came_ to The Lonely Mountain in the first place. They were handsome, self-assured men with great smiles, who made everyone who came in feel important and special. 

They kept the place running with a teetering efficiency. Thorin’s skin always pulled a bit tight on his shoulders, like he was sure the whole place was going to topple into chaos at any moment, but the boys worked with ease, had turned his father’s cafe full of dark wood and darker paint, that still smelled of cigar smoke and spilled brandy on slow days, into a popular spot with college students, the walls a bright yellow, the mugs oversized, a playlist of what Thorin suspected was mostly Mumford & Sons playing quietly over them. And all-in-all, they were _good_ at their jobs. 

Thorin liked to think he oversaw the place to some extent, but he knew that, were he to disappear, it would run just as well without him. (On some level, that was a very encouraging thought.) 

“Thorin, he’s here again.”

He grimaced, knocked back an espresso shot, and very carefully ignored the grin Fili was sending in his direction. “So?”

“ _So_ maybe today’s the day you should finally go talk to him.” Kili popped up beside him, carrying a tray full of cheese danishes. “ _Obviously_ , it’s fate that he keeps coming here.”

“It’s probably the coffee actually.”

“He’s been here twice a week _for a month_. Someone doesn’t just change their entire routine for no reason. He probably thinks you’re handsome.” 

Thorin turned his face up to the ceiling, closed his eyes to ask for strength. “Have either of you actually _looked_ at the guy?”

“Yeah, a lot actually,” Fili sighed dreamily.

“It’s the cheekbones,” Kili added. “They get Fili every time.”

“Not even going to deny that.”

“ _Stop._ You’re both completely inappropriate.” Thorin tugged on Fili’s ponytail, feeling a swell of affection even as they harassed him. “Get back to work. Those danishes aren’t going to put themselves on display.”

It wasn’t as if they were completely wrong, if he was honest with himself. Thorin found the man, who only came into the shop to order black tea, which he drank with two sugars and a splash of soy milk, strangely attractive. He always retreated to a table outside, where he sat with his fingers pressing carefully over the raised letters of his book. He read with his eyes closed, his back and shoulders straight and relaxed, as if sitting with perfect posture came easy to him.

He always offered the boys a smile, a small quirk at the corner of a wide mouth, tilting his blonde head in thanks, when they set his drink down on the table, his quiet demeanor not putting his nephews off at all from being as lively as ever. 

“You have to admit, Thorin,” Fili said quietly under cover of the espresso machine, “he _is_ sort of hot.” 

Thorin cleared his throat. “No one’s denying that.”

It was easy to see by Fili’s grin that he counted that a victory.”

* * * 

_It never rains in California, but girl, don’t they warn ya? It pours, man, it pours._

The song bled in through the shops corner speakers, dripped in like the rain outside, and Thorin sighed, because Kili had gotten to the playlist again. Fili hummed along, his smile fond. He was just as indulgent as Thorin was of his younger brother, though neither of them were likely to admit that out loud.

Kili was parked in a corner of the empty shop, studying for the history exam he had the next day, his earbuds plugged in so that he didn’t even get to hear his own handiwork. 

“He had considered putting that recording of you playing that one Bach piece on the playlist instead, you know,” Fili said suddenly, breaking the near-silence between them. “I can’t remember the name. The one that sounds happy.”

“It’s Vivaldi.” Thorin rolled his eyes. One day, he would successfully cure his nephews of their obsessions with pop-folk bands who used banjos and synthesizers in equal measure and introduce them to actual music. “‘The Four Seasons.’” 

“Right. That one. He almost put it on the playlist.”

“Why?”

“He thought it might inspire you.” Fili shrugged, leaned back against the counter with his mug of sugary coffee. “We haven’t heard you play in a long time.”

“I’ve had no reason to.”

“The fact that you love it isn’t enough?”

Thorin didn’t answer, and luckily, he didn’t have to. The door opened and brought a rush of cool spring air with it, the sound of cars crawling along wet streets, the patter of raindrops following. The man came in, his walking stick folded into the palm of his hand. He shook out his umbrella, and felt for the rack by the door, where he hung it, and then walked with purposeful steps toward the counter.

“Good morning,” he said in that soft baritone, his blue eyes hovering somewhere over Fili’s shoulder. His white blonde hair was more the color of pollen today, damp like he’d been caught unexpectedly in the downpour. The dark spots on the shoulders of his jacket testified to the same. 

“Morning!” Fili greeted him with a grin. “Kind of awful out today, huh? You’re the only one who braved the rain to come in.”

The man hummed.

“Anyway, black tea coming up.” He paused, frowning in the direction of the windows. “We couldn’t put the umbrellas up because of the wind. The chairs and tables outside are soaked. Sorry about that.”

“I’ll make do. Thank you.” He unfolded his stick, let it snap into place, and ventured out between the tables, letting it knock against chair legs, until he found the back wall. He sat carefully at a table there. Thorin thought he looked rather vulnerable, out of his element perhaps, forced into an environment he wasn’t used to. But he settled into his skin, his shoulders easing, and opened his book on the table top.

Kili had given up on his studies and was now exchanging meaningful looks with his brother. Thorin, if he didn’t know better, would have assumed they were twins communicating telepathically. He became immediately suspicious this was actually the case when Fili pushed the man’s tea and a sugar caddy into his hands. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. You’re going to take our regular his tea and you’re going to thank him for being such a loyal customer.” Fili guided him gently around the counter and out toward him, careful not to slosh the tea out of the mug. “And then you’re going to tell him his drink is on the house and ask for his number.”

“ _Fili._ ”

“No, you’re going. It’s about time you did some work around here.”

Thorin realized as he walked that he was grumbling to himself under his breath, so he paused to take a deep breath. No need to come across completely insane, was there?” “Here you are.” He slid the mug onto the table, managing to only spill a small amount onto his thumb. “And the sugar’s beside your left hand.”

The man turned the corners of his mouth up. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He hesitated for a moment. Then, awkwardly, “Any time.”

As he was spinning on his heel to turn away, the man stopped him. “I don’t know your voice. Usually the boys bring me my tea.” 

“Fili and Kili.” Thorin nodded, affection swelling in his chest - _the boys_. “They’re my nephews. I’m the owner, Thorin.”

A long hand raised toward him. “Thranduil.”

Thorin shook, smiled despite himself, and was almost glad Thranduil couldn’t see his face. “I appreciate you coming in so often. We don’t have too many regulars, to be frank.” 

“You do.” Thranduil smiled in earnest now, and Thorin was unexpectedly taken with how his frosty eyes crinkled at the corners, with the lines that parenthesized his mouth. “I’ve heard at least five of the same voices when I’ve come in. You probably don’t notice them because they aren’t as… _noticeable_ as I am.”

Thorin bristled, his face going hot. “That’s not the case at all. It’s not like we’ve-”

“It’s alright.” Thranduil lifted his hand, as if demanding his silence, which only made Thorin that much more indignant. “I know it’s unusual, to have a blind person in your establishment. It makes a face hard to forget.”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Thorin said sharply, more sharply than he probably should have spoken to a guest who came to their establishment at least once a week, as both Fili and Kili were quick to communicate with a great deal of flailing. “Just because I’ve noticed you here doesn’t mean I’m somehow preoccupied by the fact that you’re blind. I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass.” 

Thranduil blinked rapidly, apparently stunned into silence, and Thorin used the opportunity to stomp away. He grabbed his jacket from the hook with a huff and ripped the door open, barreling out into the rain, leaving his nephews to deal with the damage. 

* * *

To his surprise and, perhaps, dismay, there was no damage - at least, not the kind he expected. Two days later, Thranduil arrived just as he always did, ordered his tea as he always did, with the same polite distance with his boisterous nephews as he always used, and then, instead of going outside to sit in the sunshine as he usually did, he parked himself at the same table against the wall and proceeded to read his book. 

Thorin was furious.

So was Fili. “You _have_ to go apologize to him,” he said in a low, stern voice, prodding Thorin around the edge of the counter. “That was no way to talk to him and you know it.” 

Thorin did know that but it didn’t make the idea of apologizing any more attractive. “You didn’t _hear_ him,” he hissed back. “He was so smug and self-important. Like _I_ care whether or not he’s blind, like that’s the _only_ reason someone might remember his face.” 

“Regardless, he is pretty much our best customer, so you’re going to go apologize like the grown-up that you’re trying so hard to pretend you are and then I’ll make you a caramel macchiato because you’ll have earned it.” 

Thorin did his very best not to sulk, even if being scolded by his nephew like a child certainly made him want to act like one. But he swallowed that petty desire and stomped his way over to Thranduil. He cleared his throat, to make sure he knew he was there, before launching right in. “Good morning. I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was out of line. I’m sorry if I offended you.” He rushed through the last part: “You’re a valued customer and I appreciate your business. Thank you.” 

Thranduil laughed softly, tilted his face up toward Thorin. “They made you apologize, didn’t they?”

Thorin grimaced. “Indeed.”

“It’s alright. I’m not angry anyway. I’m not used to getting so much attention. I suppose I went a bit overboard with my assumptions.” 

Thorin barked out a startled laugh. “You’re not used to getting so much attention? God, it is obvious you’re blind.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re gorgeous, Thranduil.” Thorin wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “If you’re not our only regular, you are our best looking. You turn heads, my friend.” 

Thranduil tilted his head to the side like a cat, his mouth pursed. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And that’s why you’ve remembered me.”

Might as well go all in. “It is. It’s also why my nephews have been especially obnoxious.” 

“I’m flattered - and also slightly crushed. I had this idea that they were like that with everyone. My ideas of them have been shattered.” Thranduil let his book fall closed, marking his page with his index finger. 

“Oh, they are.” Thorin tucked his hands into his pockets. “They’ve just taken a special liking to you.” 

“Well, I will certainly keep that in mind.” 

* * *

Their relationship was easy after that. Well - it was a relationship in the loosest sense of the word. Thranduil continued to take his new place sitting at the back of the shop where Thorin brought him his tea and they talked - often about nothing - about the weather or the book Thranduil was reading or the fact that Kili had filled the playlist with nothing but the Spice Girls. 

One day, as Thorin set down his tea, and also an apple-cinnamon muffin, because Fili had just taken them out of the oven and Thranduil had a sweet tooth he would never admit to, he commented, “You know, if you went back to sitting outside, I would still come talk to you. I know you like sitting in the sun.” 

Thranduil scoffed. “Who says I’m sitting inside just for you?”

“Aren’t you?” Thorin grinned at him, then shrugged, even though he knew Thranduil couldn’t see him. “But if you’d like to talk to me somewhere that _isn’t_ my workplace, you could always go to dinner with me.” 

Thranduil’s hands, which were pulling the warm muffin into bite-sized pieces on the plate, went still. “You’re asking me on a date.”

“It certainly sounded that way, didn’t it?”

Thranduil blinked, and if Thorin didn’t know him better, he might think there was surprise there, that despite being possibly the most handsome man he’d ever seen, Thranduil might not be used to being asked out. After a moment, he lifted and dropped his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Alright.”

Thorin might have expected a warmer agreement, if he was talking to anyone else. In this instance though, he would take what he got. “Alright.” 

* * * 

Thorin was convinced that he had chosen the single most pretentious restaurant in town, and Thranduil couldn’t even see the decor. He spent the first ten minutes of their date grumbling irritably about just this fact. “I’m even wearing a _tie_. I could have taken you to Pizza Hut and you wouldn’t have known the difference.”

Thranduil laughed. “I would have been able to smell it, you know. Pizza Hut has a very distinct smell. Besides, I think I’d probably figure it out when you ordered pizza off the menu.” He was wearing a gorgeous shirt the color of bluebells, a sharp well-tailored jacket fitted neatly over it. Thorin knew, on some level, that it was ridiculous of him to think that Thranduil must have help dressing himself each morning, but he was envious of the ease with which the man seemed to look put-together and at ease in his clothes on any occasion. 

Meanwhile, Thorin kept tugging at his tie, the sensation that it was tightening around his throat increasing with each moment. He hadn’t worn one since college recitals, and he wasn’t sure that he missed them. He fiddled with the menu, unsure what the best choice might be. What if he wanted to kiss Thranduil later? He should probably avoid garlic. But this was an Italian restaurant. _Everything_ had garlic. Perhaps he could talk Thranduil into dessert or coffee. It would mask the scent of the garlic. Then they could kiss. He might have been overthinking it. He was actually definitely overthinking it. 

“What are you getting?” he asked suddenly, an excuse to break the silence that had settled over them like a blanket. “Anything look good?”

Thranduil’s menu lay on the table, and he huffed out an amused breath. “I’m not sure. Nothing looks like much of anything to me,” he teased.

Thorin’s face went hot. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. Do you want me to read you the menu choices? I can do that, if you like.” 

“No. Choose something for me.” Thranduil’s hand inched across the table, and Thorin watched it for a moment before sliding his fingertips over his knuckles, then tucking their palms together. “I’m allergic to shellfish. But anything else is fair game.”

“No shellfish,” Thorin confirmed with a nod, still embarrassed but warmed by their hands linked on the table. “I’m lactose intolerant. Now we’re even.”

Thranduil smiled at him. “My dreams of sharing a milkshake at the soda fountain are dashed.” 

Thorin didn’t expect Thranduil to make him laugh as often as he did - or at all really. He seemed such a stoic person, a stern individual, hard to approach. This side of him, with his shoulders relaxed and his smile easy, made him seem like a different person. “I know almost nothing about you,” Thorin realized as they ate their pasta. (Thranduil had also insisted on garlic bread. Now dessert was a must.) 

Thranduil paused in twirling his spaghetti onto his fork. “That’s not _strictly_ true. You know how I take my tea - and that I’m blind.” 

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” Thorin nudged his leg under the table. “Do you have family? Siblings?”

“No siblings. My parents died years ago. I have distant cousins somewhere. I also have a son, Legolas - about your nephews’ age.” 

Thorin’s eyebrows lifted. “Divorced?” 

“Not strictly speaking, no. He was… unplanned.” Thranduil twisted up his mouth like he tasted something sour, as if he found the word distasteful. “But very welcome. His mother and I are friendly, but were never serious with each other.” 

“I should probably tell you that I almost suggested a play date between him and Fili and Kili, like they’re children.” Thorin chuckled. 

“Well, yours are. Legolas is almost too serious for his own good, if I’m quite honest. I wouldn’t mind him having a less _wholesome_ influence in his life.”

“Are you implying my nephews aren’t wholesome?”

“I would like you to repeat that question to yourself and hear how ridiculous it sounds.” 

“Fair enough.” Thorin tried to imagine what Thranduil’s son might look like - found himself conjuring the same carved jaw and distinct cheekbones, and even the steely blue eyes, perhaps the blonde hair. He wanted to meet him. That was only mildly terrifying. “Is he blind?”

“You don’t pull punches, do you?”

“Sorry.” Thorin winced. “That was inappropriate, I suppose.” 

“No, I appreciate it. Too many people try to be delicate about it. But the fact is, I’m blind. It’s part of my identity.” He shrugged in that same nonchalant way, taking a bite of his pasta and chewing it slowly. After he swallowed, he continued, “I had a pretty serious case of the measles as a child, and that’s how I lost my vision. It’s not hereditary, and Legolas has perfect vision, as far as I know. He doesn’t even wear glasses.” He bent his head. “He was always a help to me growing up. I’m sure that’s part of the reason he’s so responsible and so serious.”

“I’d like to meet him at some point.” Thorin almost bit his tongue on the words. Was that too much, too soon? Oh, well, it was said now. “It might be nice to know someone who actually _does_ show he can be responsible. I have no idea how my nephews are going to end up at this point.”

“You should give them more credit. They put up with you each day.”

“Ha ha.” Thorin rolled his eyes. “Still, the Mountain couldn’t run without them. It would fall apart.” 

Thranduil hummed. “May I ask you a question?”

“Seems only fair.” Thorin had asked Thranduil enough personal questions to last a lifetime in the past few minutes. He deserved for him to return the favor. 

He twitched the corner of his mouth up. “Why run a coffee shop? It doesn’t seem like something that makes you particularly happy, and now that I know you better, it seems like the last thing I’d expect you to do.” 

“Ah.” Thorin scraped his fork on the edge of his plate. “It was my father’s, and before that, his father’s. I inherited it when he died a few years ago. It’s gone through a lot of changes over the years; my father kept it as a sort of bar-slash-smoke shop. His best customers were old men who came to drink brandy and smoke cigars, but he did alright. When he died, I think he wanted me to continue with it. I thought about selling it right away.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Fili and Kili, mostly. I was struggling financially a bit at the time, and they thought with a makeover, the business could be successful. They were right. The shop is their baby, so of course they’re enthusiastic about working there. Someday, I’m hoping to retire and let them run it, give them the deed to the building and just walk away.” 

“Do you think you’ll miss it?”

“God, no.” He laughed. “It’s been a means to an end for me, and I’m grateful that my father gave me a way to earn a living. It was like he knew I would need one. I was a stubborn kid, to be honest. I always figured my life would just fall into place, and I didn’t make many plans for it. So when that didn’t happen, at least my dad left a failsafe for me.” 

“Are you happy?”

Thorin considered the question for a long moment, because it wasn’t something that he had ever asked himself before. _Was_ he happy? “I get restless sometimes,” he said honestly. “But for the most part, I’m content, and I think that’s more than a lot of people can say.” 

* * * 

They went to bed together that night. 

Thorin briefly thought that they should wait, that they shouldn’t rush this. They didn’t know each other well enough yet, each didn’t know the other’s inclinations, and so this could be awkward; they could leave this feeling not satisfied but possibly uncomfortable, so that they were unable then to look each other in the eye. 

But when Thorin walked Thranduil to his door, Thranduil’s hands crept their way from his shoulders to his face, and he let out a little surprised laugh. “You have a beard.” 

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed it, from the sound of your voice.” He scraped his thumbs over the short hair, as if he was petting a cat. “I like beards.” 

“Do you? I wouldn’t have guessed _that_.”

He hummed, his eyes closed, his fingertips touching his cheekbones, the corners of his eyes, the tips of his ears. “Sensation is important to me, since I can’t see. I find different things sexy. I like how beards _feel_.”

If that wasn’t an invitation.

Thorin leaned up to kiss him, a firm, sharp kiss that had Thranduil’s hands tightening around his face, dragging him in closer. He was a few inches taller than Thorin, and pulling him in pronounced that height difference so Thorin had to crane his head up.

But they didn’t say there for long. Thranduil broke away from him, offered him a breathless smile, and turned to unlock the door. “I would ask you in for drink,” he said a little gruffly, “but I think at this point, that would just be a waste of time.” 

He walked him through his well-kept house and to the bedroom so quickly that Thorin only had enough time to take in his hardwood floors and cream-colored walls before there was suddenly a bed and all he was really interested in was having Thranduil on it. They didn’t take their time. Neither of them were particularly interested in the slow striptease; they were too old for play. 

Thorin found quickly that Thranduil really _did_ like his beard. The scrape of it across his shoulders and neck had him pressing his fingernails into his back, arching into him, and Thorin couldn’t keep his hands still; he wanted to touch every lovely, creamy inch of him: the sharp outline of his ribs, the dip of his hipbones, the lean lines of his thighs and the dimples in the small of his back. He made him come with his fingers and his mouth, and he watched Thranduil’s cheekbones and chest go dusty pink, his eyelashes fanned out like little shadows on his face. 

They kissed slowly, afterwards, and Thranduil’s hands moved quietly over Thorin, like he was cataloguing each curve of his muscles under his hands. He paid particularly close attention to his hands, tracing the ridges of his knuckles, the tips of his fingernails, the grooves of his fingertips, the lines of his palms. Thorin blinked sleepily at him. “What are you doing?”

“Do you play an instrument?” 

Thorin hummed. “Yes. Violin. I don’t play as often as I used to.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed that. Your fingertips are callused.” He nosed at Thorin’s cheek, and Thorin turned in to kiss him. “I’m a pianist.” 

“Mmm? Yeah?”

“Yes. I play for the California Symphony.”

Thorin felt a jolt of envy at that. “That was what I would have liked to do, if I was a better player. I auditioned years ago. Obviously, they didn’t care for me. They said I wasn’t technical enough.” 

Thranduil snorted. “Sounds about right. God forbid anyone show a little passion for the music.” He traced his knuckles along Thorin’s arm. “I’d like to hear you play.” 

“Sometime, maybe.” Thorin chuckled. “I don’t know if I could impress a concert pianist.” 

“You already have.” 

* * * 

“Apparently, all you have to do to get free stuff from Thorin is have sex with him.” 

“ _Kili_.” 

He fixed his uncle with his best _look_. “Tell me, really, truly, honestly tell me that you have charged Thranduil for even one cup of tea since you started dating and I will stop mentioning it.”

“No, you won't.” Fili leaned against the counter, his hands curled around his mug as he gently blew on the coffee. “You're way too gleeful about this whole situation.” That was true, and Thorin could certainly attest to it; Kili had been walking around the shop quite clearly pleased as punch at the idea of his uncle having a boyfriend. He seemed to think it would improve Thorin's mood. 

Of course, Thorin _was_ happy, in that soft way that made the tips of his ears sometimes feel hot, the back of his throat warm – but it certainly didn't change the fact that his nephews were unmanageable at best. “If Kili keeps it up, he's going to be out of a job before he knows it.”

“How _dare_ you!” Kili yelped. “When my matchmaking is the reason for your happiness!” 

Thorin ignored him, as any intelligent human being would, and took his tea and Thranduil's out to the table outside. Thranduil sat quietly there, his face turned up toward the warmth of the sun, and Thorin paused briefly beside the table, just to admire him. Thranduil cast a long shadow, with legs he had to constantly stretch out in front of him, since they barely fit under tables. His cheekbones “could cut glass,” as Fili liked to say, and the fingers tapping on the tabletop were those of a pianist. Thorin had watched him play, seated at the piano with his eyes closed, his hands stretched out over the keys. He liked classical pieces, which didn't surprise Thorin. Everything about Thranduil was classical: he read Hawthorne and ate steak for breakfast and more often than not, wore two-piece suits tailored to draw in at all the right parts of his body. 

The corner of his sharp mouth quirked up. “I can smell the tea, you know. I know you're just standing there looking at me.” 

Thorin cleared his throat, the back of his neck going hot, and he set down their tea a little harder than he intended to. “Well, you make it hard not to. Honestly, it's like walking by a supermodel sitting outside my cafe.”

“If only that were the case.” Thranduil chuckled, sliding his hand across the table to find his tea. “You're bringing your violin tonight, aren't you? When you come to my place?” 

“I don't know. I'll have to check its strings. I might need to change them.” 

“Which is what you said last week.”

He slumped back in his chair, chastised. “I haven't played in a long time. I have a strong feeling you have expectations higher than what I can deliver.” 

“Of course I do.” Thranduil slid his dark glasses on. He'd told Thorin once that he especially preferred to wear them when the sun was bright, as not wearing them drew an uncomfortable amount of attention to the fact that he was blind. (“I can feel people staring at me,” he'd admitted one night while they were lying mostly naked in Thorin's bed. “They don't mean to, and they're not trying to be cruel, but that's exactly what's happening.”) “I have higher expectations for you than you have for yourself, which is why you find me so irritating.”

“I don't find you irritating,” Thorin laughed. “I don't tend to sleep with people I find irritating.” 

“Yes, you do. It's how you get out all your frustration.” Thranduil reached out, ran his thumb across Thorin's knuckles. “At any rate, you can't use the excuse about your strings anymore. I replaced them for you.” 

Thorin went still. “What?”

“Yeah,” Thranduil hummed around a sip of his tea. “I couldn't do it myself. I've never been much use at all with string instruments. But the other day, when you were at the shop most of the day, I took it with me to rehearsal. I had the first violinist string and tune it. He wasn't particularly pleased about it, but when I told him about you, he recognized your name. I didn't know you'd studied under Gandalf.”

“I didn't. Not officially.” Thorin lifted a shoulder in a shrug. He knew Thranduil couldn't see him, but it made him feel good to do it. “He came to watch rehearsals a lot, would sometimes pull me aside after we finished. He liked to give me five-minute lessons, usually to tell me that my finger positioning was off.” He ran his fingers through his hair, uncomfortable. “I didn't realize people knew that.” 

“You were a prodigy.” 

“That's overstating things a bit.” Thorin withdrew his hand, pushed himself to his feet. “I've got to get back to work.”

“Oh.” Thranduil frowned, and Thorin couldn't help but touch his thumb to the corner of his mouth, to lean down to kiss him. Thranduil leaned into him the same way a flower might “Let me know when you're on your way to my apartment.” 

* * * 

That night, after Thranduil had dozed off on the couch beside him, the color of three glasses of wine in his cheeks, Thorin prodded him to bed and then sat out on his balcony. The night was clear and cool, a breeze coming salty off the bay. Below, he could hear the night life just beginning – howls of laughter, whistles for taxis – and the smell of cigarettes smoked on the street drifted up toward him. His nephews were probably among that crowd, somewhere, living those big grinning lives they always seemed to be. He almost envied them. Then he felt tired. 

He opened his violin case, for the first time in more months than he could count, and ran his fingers over the wood grains, scraped his thumb against the bridge, plucked at the strings with too long fingernails. Gently, he turned the pegs, pulled the strings loose, wound them around his hand, one by one. He laid them to the side, a neat coil, and drew out the strings he'd bought himself on the way from work. 

He liked to string his own instrument; he always had. There was something to it: the slow precision necessary, the sharp press of the strings against callused fingertips. He liked the soft vibrations they made as they tightened, the thrum that ran through the instrument and into his hands, like it was humming, eager for him to play. Though he knew Thranduil's heart was in the right place, he would never have been able to explain to him how this felt. For a long time, he hadn't even been willing to admit to himself that he felt anything at all about it. 

He turned the pegs slowly, tested their give, turned them slightly further, until the strings rang out true, sure in their notes. He knew he should take the time to do a string test, but he wasn't sure he was comfortable picking up his bow. He hadn't held it in so long; he wasn't sure how it would feel. He couldn't remember the weight of it, how it sat in his palm, the way his fingers crooked on it. It would be too much like playing, and he didn't play anymore. So he strummed his fingers across the strings, plucked out “Ode to Joy,” a simple melody, one he could recall from his very first lesson book. 

He sat there until he drooped in his chair, the violin settled into the crook of his arm like a baby, until the sounds on the street began to die away, until the kind of silence that only falls in cities fell over San Francisco, broken by the skid of tires on the road, by the occasional dog letting out a surprised yap at an unexpected sound, by his own violin strings, adding to the rhythm. 

He woke just before dawn with a crick in his neck from being slumped over there, as Thranduil tucked a blanket around him. He blinked drowsily up at him, confused. “I was worried,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across his forehead. “You didn't come to bed.” 

“I'm sorry.” Thorin took his hand, pressed his lips to his palm. “Just lost track of time and fell asleep, I guess.” He sat up, dislodged his violin, caught it just in time. The strings vibrated, echoed inside its wooden body. 

Thranduil stilled. “Were you playing?” 

“No. Just... holding it.” Thorin laid the instrument carefully out in its case, shut it with a snap. “Let's go back to bed.” 

“You weren't in bed to begin with,” Thranduil murmured grumpily, though he let Thorin steer him back into the apartment. “I couldn't find you. I thought maybe you'd gone home.” 

“I'm sorry. I meant to come to bed. I must have just dozed off.” He ushered him towards the bedroom, and crawled into bed behind him. 

“Why did you have your violin out?”

“Your violinist friend didn't string it right.” Thorin tucked his lover's head under his chin. “I had to redo the whole thing. It was a mess.” 

He could feel Thranduil smiling against his throat. “I'm sorry.” 

“It's okay. How could you know? You can't be nearly as attached to your piano as I am to my violin.”

“And I have more than one,” Thranduil pointed out. That was true; he had a baby grand in his spacious living room, a keyboard set up in the corner of his bedroom, for middle-of-the-night composition needs, not to mention the grand piano he played in concerts and with the orchestra. “A violin has to be just... different.” He paused. “If, even now, you're so attached to your instrument, why do you refuse to play it?”

“I don't know. I lost interest, I suppose.” Thorin slid his fingertips over Thranduil's sharp knuckles, slotted their fingers together, curled his arm tight around him. He brushed a kiss across his ear. “Kind of gave up on music.” 

“Why?”

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden? It's almost five in the morning. Go back to sleep.” 

Thranduil grumbled, irritated. “This conversation isn't over.” 

“No, I'm sure it's not.”

* * * 

“If you would just cave and serve food, we could be having breakfast at _your_ cafe.” 

“Serving food implies having someone on my staff who won't burn down the building if they try to cook,” Thorin pointed out, scraping his scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast. “You know the majority of the responsibility of running the shop falls to my nephews, who I'm still apprehensive about leaving alone with the espresso machine.”

“You don't give them enough credit.” Thranduil said it with a smile, his hands curled around his cup of tea, his oatmeal left to the side. They sat outside, the morning warm, and Thorin could see himself reflected in Thranduil's glasses. “They're both smart as whips. They could probably run the shop without you.” 

“They often do,” Thorin admitted. “They seem to be able to tell when I am going to kill someone if I have to be there another second, so they kick me out and take over.” 

“Why don't you let them?”

“Hm?” Thorin raised his eyebrows, chewed his food distractedly.

“Why don't you let them have the shop? They seem so fond of it.” 

“And what would I do without it?” Thorin wondered. “It's my livelihood.” 

“You could take up music again.” In response to Thorin's impatient snort, Thranduil lifted a long hand in a pacifying gesture. “Just hear me out. Music is your passion. After last night, I refuse to believe that you don't still love it.” 

“What could I do with it, at this age?” Thorin leaned back in his chair, threw his napkin on his plate. “I'm too old to try again to be a virtuoso. You don't go into the Symphony middle-aged. I'd have to pursue an advanced degree in order to even teach in a music college. I don't have that many options.”

Thranduil sipped his tea thoughtfully. “You must have thought of something,” he said quietly. “After the Symphony rejected you. You must have had other plans. Other places you went, other tries.”

“Of _course_ I did. I didn't sit on my ass because one orchestra didn't take me. I tried every orchestra on the west side of the country. I even tried to get Gandalf involved, to offer his recommendation, but he wouldn't. He thought I needed to do it on my own.” He scraped his thumbnail across the edge of his juice glass, caught it on a chip. “After I gave up, I thought maybe I'd open a music shop, but – well, what did I know about opening a shop anyway?”

“You have a shop now.”

“I have my dad's shop, which was my grandpa's shop. It's mine because I inherited it, not because I wanted it.” 

“But you know how to run it. There's no reason you couldn't run your own music shop. You could _turn_ the coffee shop into a music shop.”

“It was my dad's. I can't just gut the place and start over.”

“You can't just give up on it. It's what you've always wanted to do.” 

“I didn't _give up_ ,” Thorin said sharply. “I failed. There's a difference.” He fished his money out of his pocket, tossed a few bills on the table. “I've got to get to work.” He scraped his chair back more forcefully than he intended to. He bent to kiss Thranduil's cheek. “I'll call you later.” 

He walked away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and tried not to think about how Thranduil looked, sitting alone at the table, his hands on the table, looking straight ahead at the place he had been sitting moments before, helpless. 

* * * 

Thorin had thoroughly hoped Thranduil would drop it, but that hope had really flown in the face of everything he knew about the pianist. He was avoiding him like the plague, but that didn't stop him from being utterly annoying about the whole thing. 

He set Thranduil's tea down on his table, hard enough for it to slosh over the side of the cup, and hard enough to make him jump. “I know you're still angry with me,” he said quietly. “But you haven't returned my calls in almost a week. If you're going to break up with me, just do it.”

The thought hadn't occurred to Thorin, and the idea made his throat close, but he was still angry, and perhaps petty, enough to not speak up to deny it. He instead dropped a kiss on Thranduil's blonde head and turned on his heel to go back inside. 

“I still have your violin at my apartment,” Thranduil called after him, but Thorin ignored him.

He wasn't completely sure where they had learned them, but his nephews had a certain talent for the most scathing looks he had ever seen. Not even Thorin himself could have managed the expressions they sometimes did. Right now, Fili stood at the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn low. “You are acting like an asshole.”

“That's no way to talk to your boss,” Thorin said breezily, stepping past him to pick up a bus tub that Kili seemed to have forgotten about. “Or your uncle for that matter.” He took it into the kitchen, came back out to find Fili still waiting for him.

“Look, I don't know what happened.” 

“No you don't.”

“But if you're not going to forgive him for whatever it was, or if you're going to be irritated with him, then why not just break up with him?” Fili shrugged. “The poor guy has been sitting out there all week, trying to get your attention, but not demanding it, and you've been ignoring him. I don't know if he deserves that, but if he does, then he deserves to hear from you what you're thinking.” 

“You don't know anything about it, Fili,” Thorin reiterated firmly. “Keep out of it.”

“I won't. You've actually been _happy_ , Thorin. Do you know how unusual it is for us to actually have you seem like you're pleased to be here? Or anywhere, for that matter? You've looked, these past months, like you're actually sure you're going to have a good day, that you're looking forward to things for once. And I know a lot of that has to do with him. He's given you a reason to care about things, to look to the future, and yeah, maybe I would want you to be happy on your own as well, but if he's going to get you there, then I'm happy to let him.” He took a breath. Thorin was glad it was the slow part of the day, and only one red-haired girl was sitting in the corner of the shop, her earbuds in and music presumably loud. “Talk to him or I swear to god, I will. And you really don't want that.”

No, Thorin was sure he didn't. He cleared his throat. “I'm not going to have a private conversation with my boyfriend out front of my shop. It'll have to wait.” 

“As long as it happens.” Fili stood with his shoulders back and, not for the first time, Thorin saw himself in him. “I'm going to do the dishes.” No one else could storm off with such pride after a sentence like that.

* * * 

“I would like you to know that I'm not mad at you,” Thorin said even before he was fully in the door of Thranduil's apartment, and he was pacing in the next moment. “I'm really not. I know it seems like I am, but that's not really what I'm feeling.”

Thranduil closed the door behind him, his head moving back and forth across the room, following the sounds of Thorin's footsteps. “Alright.” 

“I'm frustrated – with myself as much as with you. And I just need to know why you're _pushing_ this.” Thorin scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I've been – I had put music out of my mind. It wasn't important anymore, and I could live pretty easily without it, and without thinking about the implications of what a musical career might have done to change my life. Meeting you – and caring for you – has meant that I've had to think about it all and it's just – it's not _fair_. I was good. I was great, even. I could have been famous, I could have made money, and I would have done it doing what I am _good_ at and that I love.” He pressed his lips together, nostrils flaring, and he paused. “I just don't understand what I did wrong.”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Thranduil said quietly, his eyes moving, as Thorin noticed they often did, somewhat restlessly, when he was upset. “Symphonies are full of virtuoso musicians. They're filled with scientists and mathematicians – the kinds of people who can read a piece of music and meet each instruction and follow them to a T and not have a single bit of artistry or passion.” He bent his head, a smile quirking his lips. “I am as much a part of the Symphony because I'm blind as because I'm good. I'm a commodity, someone people come see as a savant.” 

“I've heard you play. I know that's not true.”

“It's not true to you because you're special.” Thranduil reached out his hand, and Thorin took it, pulling him in closer. “You have never looked at me and thought of me as a blind man. You have always thought of me as a man, first, who happens to be blind. And because of that, I trust you to be honest with me. Because of that, I have to be honest with you.” He let Thorin draw him in, pressed a kiss to his eyebrow. “I'm sorry if I pushed too hard. I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

Thorin didn't say anything, just cupped his hand around the back of his neck and drew him down to press their mouths together. 

* * * 

“You can't sell the shop,” Kili said firmly, his hands balled into fists. 

Thorin blinked at him, a little surprised. “I'd have thought you might want to not spend all of your free time working here.” 

“We love it here,” Fili admitted quietly, shrugging. “We wouldn't really know what to do without it. Besides, we always sort of thought we'd inherit it.” 

“Why do you think we put so much energy into the place?” Kili pointed out. “We've always thought of it as ours!” 

“You might not have to sell it,” Thranduil said slowly, as if afraid of Thorin's reaction. “We did the math. You have enough savings to rent out another space. With some loans, you could probably keep both shops open.”

Thorin groaned, tilting his head back. “I don't _want_ to run both a music shop and a coffee shop. What free time would I ever have? I would actually murder everyone.”

“We'll run the coffee shop,” Fili said quickly. “Or I will. There's no reason I couldn't take over; I have a business degree. I'm here all the time anyway. Kili can finish his studies and I can manage here. I pretty much do as it is.” 

“Sounds like it's settled.” Thranduil quirked his mouth into a smile.

Thorin looked around the shop with a sigh. They'd closed ten minutes ago, and the space was warm with the smell of chai tea and cinnamon buns, the lights dimmed to discourage customers from thinking they were open. Thorin had been planning this conversation for days, having worked out the logistics of his plans with Thranduil. It was not going like he might have expected.

He cleared his throat. “You're responsible for it,” he said firmly. “Completely. Anything that goes wrong, it's on you. I'll show you how to do the books so you don't accidentally run the place into the ground, and then it's yours to deal with. Understood?” 

Fili grinned. “Understood.” 

“Oh, _god_.” Kili hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “This means _you're_ going to be my boss.” 

Fili had him in a headlock before he could take another breath. Thorin rolled his eyes, and Thranduil reached out a hand for him, drew him in closer. “Some things work out,” he reminded him gently. “Isn't that nice to know?” 

Thorin kissed his cheek. “It is.”


End file.
